My vision for this years John Lewis Christmas ad, unfortunately, rejected again.

Jesus2020

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Man City
Not festive enough apparently even though there’s clearly a Mary, Joeseph and Jesus metaphor somewhere in there, kind of.

“Why not, it is Christmas after all!” he said as he poured himself another Tesco’s own brand whisky into the same glass he’d drank the same drink out of this time last Monday, the Monday before and the Monday before that. In-fact, Bob had been drinking out of this glass every day for the past few months. Even his boss had started to notice Bob’s drinking. Coming in late when he could even be bothered to turn up and when he did, he stank like the stains of a sofa that had been used as a 24-hour bed whose dweller would vacate occasionally to navigate a sick stained carpet as threadborne and tattered as the dreams of the man it almost swallowed in its squalor, upon the only journey hardly ever made across it, as he went for more whiskey.

Bob stank like a man who had empty 2 litre bottles of cheap cider at the pit of his sofa, used to drop the roll ups in after they’d started to burn his dark brown yellowed fingers, before diffusing them in the piss filled bottles that were there because he was too drunk to get off the sofa. Even his colleagues at the Pre School he taught at had started to whisper. Bob didn’t give a fuck, like he’d told that stupid fat woman Wendy Jenkins when she’d mentioned his brown shirt had now had the same [oddly dried up cum looking] stains on them for about 10 days, if it bothers you so much, get your Mum to take you to another nursery.

“Stupid fucking kids” he muttered to himself as he poured himself another Tesco’s own brand whisky into the same glass he’d drank the same drink out of this time last Monday, the Monday before and the Monday before that...“Why not, it is Christmas after all!” he said, laughing at the irony of his own words before exploding into a rage of uncontrollable laughter.
“Christmas time, mistletoe and wine
Children singing Christian rhyme
With logs on the fire and gifts on the tree
A time to rejoice in the good that we see” he sang, and danced, violently laughing, gleefully cutting out the heads of the animals from the children's pictures from class sticking them onto his walls to replace the heads of the staff whose photos eerily haunted every corner of his front room.
Outside in the freezing cold stands Mary, the white headdress she wears, barely protecting her from the harsh ice pins of rain that feel like they hang motionless in the air, she looks up, there’s just one light in the house, Bob, skirting from room to wall, a bearded Rumpelstiltskin like shadow, the trick of the light causing him to look even more demon like with every cavort. “I should never of left him” she says to the man stood at her side who she left him for. “You do this every year” the man says, “Why do you torture yourself like this, after what he did? Come on, leave him be, let’s go to the Old Inn for a few”.
“Yeah you’re right” she sighs, “Ok then, why not, it is Christmas after all”.
 

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